7. The Passing Scholar (3)
Before a provincial official takes up their post, they must pay respects to the king and the high-ranking ministers.
This is called Sa-eun Suk-bae (謝恩肅拜) a solemn bow in gratitude for their favor.
It is significant that these respects are paid not only to the king but also to the ministers. It is a strong statement that appointments in Joseon were not decided by the king alone.
However, I only went to pay my respects to the Ministry of Personnel and the Censors' Office—and here I checked the names marked in my status window. The ones marked as disliking me did not exactly look welcoming. For the king (and the regent prince), I submitted my Suk-bae memorial through the Tongrye-won (通禮院) instead.
It was common practice to handle it this way, since it would be impossible for the king to meet every local magistrate personally. Being young and of low rank, this was doubly the case for me.
A good thing, really.
For different reasons, it was a relief that I also didn't have to meet the king or prince directly.
Before leaving, Jang-bok held hands with his newlywed wife and nearly wept openly.
The servant is quite something.
I cannot blame him. Who wants to leave home right after marriage?
Even though Jang-bok had been of little help at the civil service exam, I kept my promise.
My father approved of Jang-bok's marriage, seeing that the servant had served his master well and contributed to passing the exam.
Mr. Song, the Hwanghwa Bang scholar, was satisfied too. While he could not hope to take me as a son-in-law, at least our households were now connected.
Unlike aristocrats, a servant's marriage is finalized smoothly once both parties agree. This is actually closer to modern practice.
No need for the fuss of formal gifts, dowries, or picking a date. Neither the couple nor the master who expects offspring wants that.
So Jang-bok had already married in the first month of the year. Naturally, he didn't want to travel far.
But the decisive factor in making the marriage happen was the dowry our household provided. It was practically like bringing a female servant into their home, even if that was the payment.
It seemed Jang-bok had already forgotten how he had bowed so low, saying his gratitude was "etched in bones," with words he could hardly write. If I hadn't written The Elements of Mathematics, he wouldn't have gotten married.
And I am not the type to refuse taking credit.
Invisible consideration? That's only useful for those who can appreciate it.
So I patiently explained just how shameless, ungrateful, and duplicitous Jang-bok really was.
An essential duty of a da-in (大人, ruling class) is the education and moral cultivation of the common people.
The more he heard my moral lecture, the more his expression crumpled. Beside me, Eo-ji had no choice but to stay still if he truly didn't want his own expression crumpled.
"——That is how it is. Understand, Jang-bok? In any case, a magistrate's term rarely exceeds five years."
Jang-bok, sulking from my logical arguments, was taken aback.
"F-Five years in a strange land, sir?"
"That's the maximum. Normally it's one or two years, some barely a few months before they are reassigned. Don't worry. Even in that time, you'll see your wife often. Who else would I send if not you? Tsk, tsk. If you behave, the higher-ups will watch over things without you needing to do anything."
Legally, a magistrate's term was 1,800 days, but few actually completed it.
Jang-bok scratched his newly coiffed head, embarrassed.
I stopped there. Hearing too much about his marriage distracted me from my own goals.
Ah, so now you have to marry just to get a coin from the status window? Ridiculous. Apart from childhood promises to a playmate, that's one of the silliest reasons I've heard.
I'll think about it after taking up my post.
"By the way… we've been on the Seonghwan Road for quite a while. If we endure today, we can sleep in the magistrate's quarters tomorrow night. Evening is approaching, so have Jang-bok head ahead to a nearby inn or tavern and prepare the room."
"Yes, sir."
Even the unborn Jeong Yak-yong once said in Mokmin Simseo (牧民心書):
"The magistrate's procession needs only a few people, bedding, undergarments, and a book to be considered modest."
I don't remember exactly, but the general idea is there.
My thought: like other parts of Mokmin Simseo, it says "~would be considered modest" rather than "must do," so I suspect even Jeong Yak-yong didn't always follow it.
It's understandable.
I cannot afford lavish palanquins and silk curtains, but why hide my identity? Am I some secret inspector?
If I traveled like an ordinary scholar and a bandit attacked in a remote mountain, Eo-ji's strength wouldn't prevent a knife from cutting human flesh.
Announcing myself as magistrate at least reduces risk.
No, Joseon people did not care whether it was a magistrate or not if angered. Twenty years ago, a prince and princess nearly were poisoned.
That's why Jang-bok went ahead first.
Would strolling with the commoners, pretending "I too require no special treatment, same as them," look impressive?
Yes, admirable character—but I cannot do it.
Anyone trying it would see why immediately.
February in Joseon was nearly mid-spring.
Yet, as the saying goes, "big freeze in Jeong-iwol," so even spring was still cold. Traveling south didn't mean much difference—Seoul and Chungcheong were hardly far apart.
I lay down in the room, letting the ondol warm my body.
"Ah, this is warm. Jang-bok and Eo-ji can share the heated floor without complaint."
They laughed and enjoyed the warmth, despite the smell. It was the best possible situation.
Besides the room Jang-bok prepared, this roadside tavern had several rooms, all warm.
I didn't need to ask how Jang-bok had managed it. I could imagine: he stomped through the gate with head high, striding like a crane, and…
"The new magistrate of Mokcheon-hyeon has arrived! Clear the clean room, forbid lowborn servants and wandering women! What? The room is full? This fool must be flogged beneath the Hong-sal Gate to understand! If I fold my back, thirty people can fit in one room easily!"
Good job, Jang-bok.
Had he not done this, I would have had to squeeze into a room with a dozen strangers, barely breathing, worrying about stolen luggage.
I am not abusing servant privileges; this was unavoidable.
Up to Gwangju-bu, I mixed with ordinary people, unconcerned.
Some local offices helped, due to minor personal connections. I could not rely on good positioning at every stop.
Yet starting that very night, I suffered for it.
The stench of plague, draft through worn paper doors, early spring bedbugs—they all punished my foolishness.
As a modern man, or a twenty-year-old aristocrat who had rarely left home, it was torture.
Near Anseong, a petty thief sneaked in pretending to be a guest, aiming for my documents.
Losing them would mean ikjik (溺職, dereliction of duty)—exile being the lightest punishment.
Still, I thought Eo-ji breaking a wrist was a bit much. Perhaps he only wanted to prevent escape. My Eo-ji is kind after all.
Hence, I no longer pretended to be fragile.
Now within Mokcheon-hyeon, I matched wits with Jang-bok actively.
I had no choice but to display my official seal to the innkeeper, who eyed the young magistrate suspiciously.
The innkeeper cleared the main bongnot room and stuffed other guests into smaller rooms, heating the ondol diligently.
If this were Korea today, I'd be a viral "inn tyrant" online. Not much different in Joseon.
But one difference: how I act afterward can save my reputation.
Hence, I paid three times the usual fee. The innkeeper ignored guest complaints because of it.
He would distribute portions to others quietly. Then the other guests would say:
"Well, he is a noble official; one cannot help it!"
"Yes, official business must have no delay; outsiders cannot be allowed nearby. Another helping, perhaps?"
Even if a modern conglomerate heir did the same, it would be similar.
Why so little money? That's why our party is small. Reducing headcount left more budget.
Some of it is petty cash, but most was gifts from acquaintances—paper, notebooks, for my study and official work.
They trusted I would use them properly.
Sorry, but studying and working require managing one's condition first.
The innkeeper even brought a plate of boiled pig head meat with rice wine—a fine late-night meal.
He was cheerful about it. I paid as if I were a business customer.
Judging by smell, it wasn't spoiled. Thanks to my skill, I didn't worry, but I had to be careful because my two servants could attract attention even as colorful ghosts if I died.
We ate, warmed, and soon both servants fell asleep. I felt drowsy too.
Just as I was about to be swallowed by sleep, a sharp voice, like a body blow to the stomach, cut through it.
"Now, what is all this noise?"
A woman's voice?
I sprang upright.
I am not obsessed with women. Even by the era's standards, this was surprising.
A woman wandering here? In Joseon?
Merchants selling wine or sundries might travel alone, but usually, a male escort is present for safety.
So I listened closely.
"Please don't speak so loudly. A noble person came, so I had no choice. You know the miraculous powers of the mountain monk I serve, right? I didn't want trouble; if I offended someone, they'd drag me off, so what could I do?"
The innkeeper spoke quietly, but I heard it all.
"Such a noble person? Even the king came?"
"Goodness, no. It's the magistrate of Mokcheon-hyeon. Young, perhaps a bit green, with one mischievous servant and one small brat, I was skeptical, but the seal is genuine. A powerless commoner like me can only obey."
Ah, so they thought of our party that way. But what did you give me? The room?
The woman—a shaman named Yeon—grew bolder despite being told it was the magistrate.
"Even if not the king, sacred paths are avoided by officials. How could the magistrate deprive us of offerings? Who else will live longer in this village with me and the magistrate?"
I never asked for anything. So the boiled pig meat… ah, it was pig head.
The shaman, Yeon, had intended it for a ritual.
Even if selling alcohol is not respected, the innkeeper, a commoner, trembled before her. She must be a powerful shaman. Perhaps chosen as a child?
The crafty innkeeper switched attitude.
"It was taken forcibly. Please spare me divine punishment. Otherwise, it would fall to the corrupt official, yes?"
This guy.
"Then pay properly. Offer double to appease the mountain god."
"D-Double?"
"Originally, I intended to give it after the ritual, but now you must spend again. Save a few coins and the god may take your child instead."
All of it!
Should I 'Seomunpyo' them? No, I could completely slaughter them silently.
I calmed down. Cancelled the gathered energy in my trembling palms.
This is 18th century Joseon. Human sacrifice ideas belong to ancient pre-Qin humor books, not here.
Think, think. I'm newly appointed, young, and the local clerks will handle me like a raw recruit.
The local forces haven't greeted me yet. Strong local powers… yes, the Mokcheon-hyeon Four Kings.
If I gain one on my side, it helps with the perennial problem of bypassing clerks, creating a direct channel to the lower classes.
Innkeeper getting punished? Let it be. Divine punishment, but not my concern.
I must assert authority, reprimand with proper reasoning, then persuade them gently. Through dialogue and negotiation.
That skill is irrelevant here. I'm not in a pornographic fantasy.
Yes, I know stories of a Japanese salaryman climbing from intern to president through charm.
But here, Joseon is about morality, not debauchery.
Getting involved with a shaman risks my title and affiliation. Not allowed.
I have not yet reached the rank of Chief State Councillor.
Every promotion, the Censorate will remind:
"This magistrate caused an indecent incident before even taking office. Associating with lewd women—what is the meaning?"
Especially after the rebellion of Yi In-ja, shamanic groups often appear in mutinies.
Yes, that Gyeryong-san Jeong Doryeong millennium kingdom, Jeonggamnok. He supposedly practiced asceticism there?
If careless, five coffin boxes would be needed for my body, like Youngjo's execution of rebels.
Not that far, but marriage goals might be affected.
If scandals happen in the post, ties to powerful clans weaken. Even the Chief State Councillor distances himself.
Even if men's lewdness is tolerated legally, reputation suffers. In Joseon, reputation is faster than royal proclamations.
Act improperly, and your future in-laws will frown.
Hence, no direct intimate involvement. Only indirect alliances.
Even without sex, I have plenty of bargaining chips.
Even the wealthiest must respect formalities. In Yangban-jeon, a rich man bought a noble.
Forcing the innkeeper suffices. I can resolve grievances of minor slights.
With plans set, I stepped outside.
If Eo-ji or Jang-bok caused violence, it would be futile. I intended quiet resolution.
I appeared in the yard. The innkeeper knelt swiftly. The shaman Yeon also knelt.
Naturally.
Again, I am not being tyrannical; it is Joseon protocol. Even a low-ranking scholar must follow it.
Unfair? Go tell the king.
I intervened lightly.
"You didn't know it was someone else's meat. The innkeeper acted shrewdly, but the food is already eaten. What's done is done. Returning the money ends the matter."
The innkeeper, realizing I knew, trembled.
But Yeon, like a Four King, was unafraid.
"Does a thief only return what was stolen? How can the magistrate ignore that he ate it?"
She blamed me lightly. I was astonished. Risking life, indeed.
Outside, some companions seemed to be waiting. A lone woman would not travel far.
I have Joseon's best tank, Eo-ji.
And this is not a street fight.
I asked directly:
"By that logic, I received stolen goods. Is that what you mean?"
She answered.
"You, the magistrate, are well-read and versed in etiquette. Even a lowborn child knows that ritual offerings are untouched before the ceremony. You didn't know, but now you do. By judging properly, even a humble shaman would accept it."
She did not threaten divine punishment in my presence. Good.
This hints she may join my side under conditions.
But discipline comes first.
Etiquette? That is your realm, not mine. You heretics.
My realm is scholarship.
And who am I? In the civil service exam, the top scholar, Kim Unhaeng of Jangdong.
I held my scholar's fan like a microphone, fully opened to cover my face.
The freestyle stage of the passing scholar begins.